


everything that is elusive

by XellyChan



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Bad Sex, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Pining, replacement goldfish fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 17:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18969805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XellyChan/pseuds/XellyChan
Summary: "I've never been here," Scorpion says and he is brittle and run through with open, weeping wounds. "This is not my home.""It was. Once," the man named Kuai Liang tells him. He sounds like he a man who had mourned too many times and now has nothing left to give. "It will be— could be, again."





	everything that is elusive

**Author's Note:**

> Title lifted from I’ve Been Thinking Too Hard by Yellow Days. This story was inspired by Kuai’s wobbly lip and heart broken face in MK11’s cutscenes. Also Hanzo basically making Scorpion promise to take care of his clan (and husband) before croaking. But I’m me so...y’know. 
> 
> Also, Hydro is here because I love them and MK writers have forgotten them for too long. Mine now, bitch.

"Is it so strange to be here once again?" asks the man who calls himself Sub-Zero. He is smiling a faint, wistful smile. The smile of a man looking at a faded memory, the edges torn and soft. Scorpion looks away from the distant pain in those pale blue eyes. He sweeps his gaze around the Fire Gardens' courtyard, preferring to wallow his own closer, fuller, pain. He places his hand on the rough bark of a tree, feeling askew and out of place.

 

There is a veil between him and reality.

 

Scorpion is afraid of drawing back the veil to find only dreams. Ghosts. A blood splattered home with little more than bones and regrets to lay to rest in the bed.

 

His throat closes, his ribcage creaks like hot glass run under a cool stream. He is nothing but the leftover shards of a man, shattered and in ruin. There is only sand in his veins and dust in his lungs. "I've never been here," Scorpion says and he is brittle and run through with open, weeping wounds. "This is not my home."

 

"It was. Once," the man named Kuai Liang tells him. He sounds like he a man who had mourned too many times and now has nothing left to give. "It will be— could be, again."

 

Scorpion says nothing. The silence hesitates, then moves in like a gentle sigh, there to stay.

 

This is not his home.

 

***

 

The man named Kuai Liang lingers, speaking softly to Shirai Ryu students, coaxing them away from Scorpion.

 

He should be thankful for the reprieve.

 

He should be incensed at the interference.

 

Scorpion is neither of those things. He simply  _ is _ , for what little it's worth.

 

"Eventually," Kuai Liang says after a long while. He is nursing a cup of tea, long since cold, creating spinning patterns of delicate frost along the surface with idle fingers. "Eventually," he says again, careful and patient, "You will have to lead them. They are yours, now."

 

Scorpion stares out at the courtyard, unblinking and unmoved. Taking in every detail he can in case he awakes; in case he never does and loses it all anyway. "They are not mine," he says, firm. "They have lost their Master."

 

Kuai Liang sets the cup down, his eyes very blue and very wistful still. "Yet you will lead them." It's not a question and it never was.

 

Scorpion turns away.

 

***

 

All around him are strangers in funeral robes.

 

No, not robes but burial armor.

 

But that's not quite right, either. Scorpion is staring at the past and he is staring at the future. He's not sure which hurts him more.

 

The entire clan is assembled in the courtyard, stoic in their shared sorrow. Underneath a clear sky, they place their hands on their hearts and lead each other through their grief. The sun gleams on the blades of their weapons, pulled from their sheaths and laid out in honor. Their armor is unmarred and pristine, alien without blood and ichor and ash as Scorpion most vividly remembers them.

 

_I never buried my clan_ , he thinks.   _Who laid them to rest_ , he thinks.

 

This new clan, this living clan, these children wearing gold over their brows, they look at him where he stands, alive and breathing.

 

They are young and they are strong, they turn their faces towards him. Where he goes, they will follow. The thought terrifies him more than he thought anything ever would again. If Scorpion ever thought he knew fear, he knows now he was wrong, and that he was a fool.

 

The man named Kuai Liang stands at his side, hands folded neatly behind his back. He is speaking in worn yet warm tones to the gathered students. He weaves a story of valor and alliance, of victory and sacrifice, of honor and loss.

 

He speaks of the dead man named Hanzo Hasashi.

 

It's strange to pay respects when Scorpion himself is already dead, but the man they are honoring is not him, as much as they once shared a face and a name.

 

( _ Scorpion doesn't have even that much left, anymore. No face, no name _ .) ( _ No future _ .) ( _ He doesn't linger on that thought. _ )

 

Scorpion does as is needed, as he's told throughout the whole ceremony. Stand here, move there, hold this, do that. For once he doesn't bristle underneath the commands. Not when they are given gently, carefully spoken, as if the commands pained Kuai Liang to give. Not when so many eyes look to him, expecting things he isn't sure he has in him to give.

 

Dead men don't have anything useful to give to the living, after all.

 

He holds that truth close to the emptiness inside his chest.

 

"We should... you should lead the procession," Kuai Liang says. There are faint lines of stress at the corners of his mouth, his throat bobbing as he swallows. If Scorpion hadn't been standing as close as he was, he wouldn't have noticed the way the other man's hands were shaking behind his back, knuckles covered in ice. Kuai Liang isn't looking at him, but at the sleek coffin being carried on the shoulders of the oldest students.

 

( _ Kuai Liang who was everything a Lin Kuei shouldn't have been _ .) ( _ Why would a Lin Kuei mourn a Shirai Ryu so acutely? _ ) ( _ He won't linger on that one, either. _ )

 

It's a simple coffin. Made from the wood of the oldest trees from the Fire Garden. It's also empty. Useless, as far as coffins go. Inside it is nothing but memories, bobs and bits of another life, scraps of someone who isn't there.

 

The dead do not lie in their graves, he thinks.

 

The man named Hanzo Hasashi rots peacefully in the Netherrealm. Scorpion's fists clench at his side because the universe is very cruel even without a puppet master to direct its theater of tragedy. He hates the symmetry of it all, wants to burn down the carefully crafted struts, rip up the floorboards, claw at the roof. He doesn't want to rummage through the thoughtfully preserved remains of someone else's life.

 

( _He vows to never be the man named Hanzo Hasashi. Not if that'll be his end_.)

 

"If you say so," Scorpion says at last.

 

"I..." Cool fingers touch his elbow, hesitant, before pulling away, "You don't... It's fine if you'd rather not. Takeda's there, he'll—" The man named Kuai Liang's voice breaks quietly, almost unnoticeable. "He'll know what to do." A hand with fine tremors passes over black hair, the heel of his palm pressing at the edge of the pale scar over his eye. Now that he's no longer speaking to the assembled clan, Kuai Liang's grief allows itself to come to the fore, extravagant in its simplicity. "I can't do it, I'm not a clan senior, or else I would."

 

Scorpion is silent. Then, dull, "But I'm the one who should do it."

 

"Yes," Kuai Liang says, looking away. The blue of his eyes lingers in Scorpion's mind. "You are the one who should."

 

***

 

They don't see each other for a while after that.

 

The man named Kuai Liang was the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, of course, he couldn't stay. There was no reason for Scorpion to expect him to stay, yet he did. Because if nothing else, the strangeness of a Lin Kuei in the grounds is preferable to the heaviness of the Shirai Ryu's expectations.

 

Scorpion... is adjusting.

 

The Shirai Ryu is still recovering from that last grand battle, coming down from wartime modes of operation. It's routine, busy and systematic. Cataloging what needs to be fixed, then fixing them. It almost makes it easy for Scorpion to be who they need him to be. Still, peacetime looms on the horizon. Soon there will be no bodies to give last rites to, no surviving family to offer platitudes to, no armor to fix and homes to rebuild. Once the last tear has dried, once the last nail is driven into place, Scorpion is at a loss for what comes next.

 

Scorpion doesn't know what to do with peace. He knows how to mourn, he doesn't know what to do with the pieces left behind after grief has run its course.

 

He is looking out at the courtyard again when Takeda comes, lingering at the doorway. "Oh, you're still here, Master Hasashi."There's a breathless moment, then Takeda is cursing, overloud in the stiff silence that follows. He steps forward, expression sincere as he bows, fist pressed against palm. "My apologies, Master. It’s just... normally Master Hasashi would be visiting the Lin Kuei temple around now and I thought...” Takeda stops, chagrined.

 

He’s avoiding looking at Scorpion, head bowed.

 

Scorpion doesn't have a mouth to grimace with, but his entire being roils with unpleasantness. "It's fine," he says. It isn't. "Is there something important I must attend to?"

 

Slowly unfolding from his bow, Takeda darts an uncertain glance Scorpion's way, licking his lips. "I— I don't think so? It's more like a tradition to keep up clan peace." He rubs his thumb at the corner of his mouth. "It's pretty unofficial though, I think you and the Grandmaster just used it as an excuse for a day off."

 

If they both notice the slip, neither of them acknowledges it.

 

"... I see," Scorpion says even though he doesn't. His eyes drift over to Hanzo Hasashi's desk— _ his _ desk, now— mind ticking over uneasily at the length of blue cloth tucked, reverent, inside the drawer.

 

***

 

He goes anyway.

 

It feels like he’s running away from something as he leaves the Fire Gardens behind the sinking sun.

 

His portal burns the snowy ground, and an eruption of steam announces his arrival at the entrance. The two Lin Kuei stationed in front of the heavy gate tense when he appears. Once they register his mask, they relax. Bowing in unison, they open the gate without speaking.

 

He enters without question and only a little hesitation.

 

A Lin Kuei in the Shirai Ryu.

 

A Shirai Ryu in the Lin Kuei.

 

He tries not to dwell on the wrongness of it all. 

 

***

 

The temple is a monument of destruction.

 

Ancient stone halls bear deep scours and blood splattered walls. Tired eyed students weave around each other, rummaging through their scattered home, sorting what is salvageable from what is beyond repair. More than a few bore deep, mutilating wounds, the stumps of limbs hidden under pure white bandages. They move like mirages in the cold, dark temple, murmuring to each other in low tones.

 

The youngest and the least injured offer faint smiles as he passes.

 

One Lin Kuei, standing taller than most, broad-shouldered and lanky, stands in the middle of a wide atrium. They are directing the others, bustling with nervous energy. The student they were talking to catches sight of Scorpion, tapping the elder Lin Kuei and motioning towards him with tired eyes, appearing curious instead of suspicious. The Lin Kuei turns towards him, allowing Scorpion to catch sight of a deeply scarred face, thick, puffy furrows that drag from the side of their face and disappear into their mask.

 

Scorpion gets the impression he’s being glared at even though the mask obscures expression. He’s strangely comforted by the animosity even as despite the wariness crawling up his spine.

“Oh wonderful,” The Lin Kuei says darkly. “It’s you again. And not even the real you, but the outdated backup copy version of you.”

 

Scorpion's back goes up, fire sparking around his knuckles. "I’m not Hanzo Hasashi,” Scorpion grits out, fists smoldering at his sides. As an afterthought, he adds, “I do not know who you are.”

 

“Well, I'm unfortunately acquainted with most versions of you, and it’s hardly been a pleasure at any time. My name is Hydro,” They tell him, bracing a hand against their hip. Scorpion notices their arm is a cyber prosthetic, the join of metal and flesh inflamed and raw where it sits above their elbow. “You do best to remember it because I fear I’m to be plagued with you for a while yet.”

 

Hydro foists the building material in their arms into the chest of the student who’d alerted them before. “Take that and make yourself useful,” They tell the student before stalking off towards another grand set of doors. When Scorpion fails to follow, they toss him a baleful glare over their shoulder, impatiently beckoning him to come.

 

Seriously considering turning back so he wouldn’t have to deal with the unpleasant Lin Kuei who still seemed to hold a grudge against Hanzo Hasashi, Scorpion nonetheless follows.

 

They wind through endless corridors, hallways, and enclosed courtyards, some more destroyed than others, all smelling of death and rot and metal. A few more students share shy, ghost like smiles with him as he passes. Others only slink out of the way, shoulders hunched and eyes shadowed. They all act like his being here isn't anything unusual, like they know him. As if he's safe and  _ familiar _ . Scorpion's stomach curdles.

 

Hydro never stops, never breaks stride to toss out a command or a correction as they continue on their way. The nervous energy is palpable so close up, it stirs the air as they make their way deep into the temple.

 

Scorpion stews for a moment, carefully turning over each word before he speaks them, “I would have thought Kuai Liang– the Grandmaster– would've been overseeing the repairs.”

 

Casting a distasteful gaze over their shoulder, it’s clear Hydro would have rather Scorpion said nothing at all. “He does,” Hydro makes a sharp turn, forcing Scorpion to widen his stride to keep up. “After dealing with your mess, practically baby feeding you the gumption to step up, our Grandmaster came straight here and set about burying our dead. Heading up recovery parties to retrieve what they could from the cyberization foundry.”

 

“Cybernetic parts?” Scorpion ventures, glancing at the prosthetic.

 

“Body parts,” corrects Hydro, voice dangerous. “A bag of discarded limbs. Assorted organs. A shipping container of brains that hadn't been shattered in the blast. Anything that could be buried, if not identified.”

 

Scorpion stays silent.

 

Not caring enough to wait for a response, Hydro clucks their tongue, “He’s been at it none stop since he’s returned. Tonight is the first time since that whole awful business began that he allowed himself to take a break. I’d be glad but,” they give Scorpion another unimpressed look, sweeping their eyes down the length of him. When their gaze comes back up to meet with his, Hydro doesn’t need to say that Scorpion leaves much to be desired. Scorpion thinks Hydro wouldn’t have found much worth in Hanzo Hasashi either. The thought is almost a comfort to some small, hidden part of him. Hydro turns away and comes to a stop in front of a pair of doors more ornate than any other they’ve passed. “Well. It  _ had _ to be tonight of all nights, didnt it?”

 

An unpleasant inkling begins to scratch at the back of Scorpion’s mind.

 

Throwing open the doors without knocking, Hydro calls, “I do so hope you’re decent, Kuai Liang. It won't do if you receive visitors while in your unmentionables.”

 

There's shuffling behind a folding rice paper screen, a shadow coming into view, lithe without armor. For a brief moment, Scorpion considers averting his eyes, vividly aware there could be some truth to Hydro’s words.

 

Kuai Liang rounds the screen, unarmored but dressed in a loosely done robe, no longer slicked back black hair falling into his face,. His eyes are unfocused, misty, color high in his cheeks. There’s a slim-necked liquor bottle held precariously between his fingers, his face queasy and stress lined. Kuai Liang looks ponderously slow from Hydro to Scorpion, mulishly glaring at Hydro first then brightening almost instantly when he catches sight of Scorpion. For a moment, the years and the grief fall off his face, making his ruddy colored cheeks look attractive instead of sickly.

 

When he opens his mouth, dread spikes through Scorpion’s ribcage.

 

Hydro casually cuts between Kuai Liang's line of sight towards Scorpion with a slight bow. “Master Not-Hanzo-Hasashi has come to see you, Grandmaster Kuai Liang.” Their voice is careful, mild, none of the thinly veiled impatience from before.

 

Confusion crosses the Grandmaster’s face, the beginnings of a smile slow to fade.

 

Heart beating a phantom thud in his chest, Scorpion sees one second bleed into the next as realization sinks through the alcohol. Kuai Liang's expression folds in on itself, like something gauzy and delicate falling away. 

 

“Be a good boy and entertain Master Not-Hanzo-Hasashi, will you?” Hydro says, which feels cruel. The words are like paralytic darts, thrown with where they both are most vulnerable, keeping Scorpion and Kuai Liang in place long enough for Hydro to make their way out. “Master Not-Hanzo-Hasashi, next time you’ll be able to teleport here straightway,” Lingering between the entryway, Hydro leaves behind one last parting shot before letting the heavy doors slam shut. “After all, the wards already recognize you.”

 

The sound seems to settle over them like a death knell. No one moves. Scorpion notices the way Kuai Liang’s hands shake, the way he clenches them to hide it. The motion draws his attention to the golden length of silk held tightly in Kuai Liang's left hand, wrapped twice over his palm.

 

Kuai Liang shivers with something Hanzo expects isn't the cold, then wanders unsteadily to the low table in the center of the room. He slumps heavily into one of the neatly laid out cushions, the bottle thunking on the wood surface. Unsure if he’s welcome or not, Scorpion stays where he is, watching Kuai rub at the lip of the bottle in silence, face blank. This far into the temple, there are no sounds of the students repairing the halls and rooms, the silence thick and suffocating. Scorpion once again considers leaving but does nothing to summon up another portal.

 

Kuai Liang blinks, an abrupt spectrum of emotion fluttering over his face, none of which Scorpion attempts to give name to. It feels like he's a voyeur bearing witness to something private. Something solitary and lonely.

 

Like some internal mechanism has come to like once more, Kuai Liang jerks into motion, pressing the hand with the golden headband wrapped around it against his scar. He murmurs quietly to himself before finally offering Scorpion a wan, wilted smile. He very nearly begins to resemble the man named Kuai Liang who stood by his side during those first, long, confusing weeks. “My apologies, Scorpion. I wasn't expecting–“

 

“To see a ghost?” Scorpion interrupts bluntly. It feels like he meant it to hurt. Like he's striking out against Takeda and Hydro and now Kuai for using ( _ or nearly using _ ) a name that doesn't belong to him.

 

A wounded look passes over Kuai Liang’s face. His hands are still trembling. “You’re not a ghost.”

 

Scorpion arches an eyebrow at but moves sit across from him without comment. Kuai Liang glances up at him, something aching in the downturn of his mouth, the wet shine of his eyes. Chest constricting uncomfortably, Scorpion turns away to consider the snowy landscape stretching out from the wide, wall length window. Snow-capped mountains dream in the distance, lumbering shadows against the deepening sky, a smattering of bright stars dance above their peaks. Drumming his fingers against the table, Scorpion waits for something he doesn’t name. 

 

The man named– No, just Kuai, not Grandmaster, not SubZero, not the man who sat patiently by his side as Scorpion resisted adjusting to this time–  _ Kuai _ took a dainty sip from his bottle, half hugging the bottle to his chest when he sets it back down. The motion slides one shoulder of his loose robe off, revealing mottled skin covered in healing bruises and faint scars. And other, more curious, marks. Kuai doesn't seem to notice,  instead of staring vacantly at the gold around his hand.

 

“I’m sorry.” Kuai Liang breathes, “You just….look a lot like him.” He laughs a melancholy little laugh. “Of course you would, it’s just. Difficult.” Letting go of the bottle, Kuai Liang folds his hands over the table, anxiously massaging frosted over knuckles.  A self-deprecating smile slides into place over the wistfulness. “I should be used to people leaving and never coming back.”

 

“Loss is everywhere,” Scorpion says at length, shuffling awkwardly. His eye darts to a burn mark on roping over Kuai Liang’s clavicle, riding high over the side of his throat. The mark is in the shape of fingers, not quite a scar, and yet Scorpion knows without an inkling of a doubt the burn was intended to linger; a possessive, unspoken claim. 

 

Scorpion doesn’t ask,  _ what was he to you? _

 

He thinks he can guess.

 

Just as damning, he asks, "Is that," he motions to Kuai Liang's bare shoulder, "why you helped me?"

 

Eyes widening, shock and indignation burns away the alcohol and wistfulness ( _ something painful and relieved thumps in Scorpion's chest, yes  _ finally _ , he thinks _ ) as Kuai Liang self consciously pulls up the sleeve of his robe, holding it closed in an iced-over fist. The mark peeks up from behind the wrinkled silk collar, and there's something artful about it that Scorpion doesn't examine too closely. "No," Kuai Liang says, cold and hard. "I did it because it was the  _ right _ thing to do, because  _ he _ would've done the same for me."

 

"I'm not Hanzo Hasashi," Scorpion says again for the tenth time, the hundredth, the thousandth. He says it like he's etching it into stone, like the more he says it, the truer it'll be.

 

Kuai Liang looks at him, blue eyes still over bright, mouth pressed into an unhappy line. "No, you aren't." 

 

***

 

Let it never be said that there is a Scorpion ( _ or a Hanzo or a Master Hasashi or any equally dead men sharing his approximation of a soul _ ) in any timeline or universe that didn't make spectacularly terrible decisions.

 

There's no explanation Scorpion could ever give for why he reaches across the table and cups Kuai Liang's cheek, pulling him forward until Kuai's parted lips brush against Scorpion's mask in a mockery of a kiss.  Kuai makes a broken, hurt sound but doesn't pull away.

 

"Why?" he whispers, blue eyes searching his.

 

"You need it."

 

"Do you?"

 

Scorpion doesn't answer. Just slides his hands beneath smooth silk, pushing it off broad shoulders in a waterfall of shimmering blue.

 

Kuai grabs his wrists, holding him still. "Do you want this?" His fingers squeeze, distracted, ice biting into Scorpion's skin before melting away. "I thought you said you weren't–" His bottom lip trembles. His expression threatens to crumple like before when he realized Scorpion wasn't Hanzo Hasashi. "What do you want?"

 

Scorpion can't answer, doesn't know how to. After a while, he says, "To repay you, maybe. To feel something, probably. More the second than the first," He pulls Kuai on top of the table, and Kuai goes, crawling on top of the lacquered surface, too busy staring into Scorpion's eyes, trying to divine his motivations (good luck, good luck, Scorpion doesn't know himself)  to care when his foot knocks off the bottle of liquor. They don't care when the bottle thunks heavily on the ground, the sharp smell of alcohol and flowers bites the air as the bottle glugglugglugs and spills itself across the floor, only half drunk. 

 

"Will you let me?" Scorpion asks, tracing a rib, an angry new scar there.

 

Kuai Liang makes the same, punched, hurt sound and slides into Scorpion's lap.

 

***

 

Scorpion isn't gentle and Kuai doesn't ask him to be. There's no softness left in the burnt out remains of Scorpion's bones, just washed out anger and something needy as he tugs Kuai close.

 

He has no mouth to kiss with but that doesn't stop Kuai from pressing his lips against the side of his mask with a desperate sort of fervor. Scorpion undoes the loose sash around Kuai Liang's waist, sliding eager hands down his sides, pressing in his fingers over the sharp jut of hip bones, hard enough to bruise. 

 

Cold hands tear at his armor, clumsy with haste. 

 

Scorpion huffs and knocks his hands away, pushing Kuai back and pinning him to the table, winding the blue sash around his wrists. The golden silk of Hanzo Hasashi's headband glares accusatory at him from beneath the blue.

 

That's fine, disappointing the dead is nothing new to Scorpion. If this is a colossal mistake, Hanzo Hasashi won't be the one dealing with it.

 

Splaying Kuai Liang out like a sacrifice, Scorpion doesn't stop to consider how many finger-shaped bruises his hands fit perfectly into, doesn't bother to question the easy way Kuai opens his legs and lets Scorpion slot right up against him. Kuai writhes against him, desperate for it, ankles locking around Scorpion's waist and heels nudging into his spine. 

 

"Impatient," Scorpion says. Did Kuai Liang do this for Hanzo Hasashi? Did his wife do the same for him? Scorpion can't decide if it's mercy or cruelty that Kronika and Quan Chi have stripped him bare of the answers. 

 

As he slides his fingers into Kuai Liang's mouth, Scorpion decides maybe it's for the better those memories stay buried away in the Netherrealm with Hanzo Hasashi's corpse, they were never Scorpion's in the first place. Scorpion has enough reminders of what he doesn't have, he doesn't need to add something so intimate to the towering proof of his lack.

 

Kuai Liang licks between his fingers with no prompting, no tease, just spit and wet, eyebrows furrowed as if in pain.

 

"You're nothing like you were then," Scorpion tells him, lost in thought, slipping his fingers free, leaving a trail of saliva on Kuai Liang's chin. He remembers The Man Who Became Sub-Zero, strong and tragic across a battlefield of sand and blood. Splaying out his hand across Kuai Liang's sternum, Scorpion looks for that man now, finds someone brittle and unsteady and unimpressive.

 

Scorpion is both strangely relieved and angry.

 

"I don't want to hear that from you," Kuai Liang gasps, wincing when Scorpion jerks his cock with his other hand, palm dry and rough.

 

Shoving down his pants and pulling out his own cock, slicking it up with spit, Scorpion shrugs, rutting into the soft skin of Kuai Liang's inner thigh. "Then ignore me. Think of him, I don't care." It's a lie, but Scorpion doesn't let Kuai Liang retort, sliding his hand between the table and Kuai's ass, lifting him up. Kuai Liang shudders again, hiding his face behind his forearms as Scorpion lines himself up and begins pushing in.

 

It's slow and awful and Kuai Liang sobs with it, arching his hips up and taking Scorpion deeper, cock still hard despite the pain. Scorpion leans down and pushes in and in and in, feeling vindictive and unsatisfied, wanting to hurt Kuai Liang just for the distraction of it. There's fire in his veins and grave soil under his nails, and Kuai Liang is an entire cemetery of grief. Scorpion wants to dig him up, sift through all the pain there to keep from looking too closely at his own agony. 

 

A snowstorm has begun outside, wind and snow howling and clawing at the window like hungry wolves scenting blood. Scorpion tosses Kuai Liang's legs over his shoulders, crushing him to the table, pulling back his hips and slamming right in. He fits his face into Kuai's sweaty neck, right where a kiss would go if he had a mouth. In the dim light, Scorpion can vaguely make out the impression of someone else's teeth, someone else's kiss, mark, claim, and some petty part of Scorpion enjoys the corruption of it. 

 

Kuai tenses, trying to squirm away from Scorpion but only succeeding in working his cock deeper inside. Bound arms loop over his neck, blunt nails scrabbling over his hood, a frigid chill racing down the nape of Scorpion's neck. "Don't—nnnot there," Kuai Liang grits through clenched teeth. "I'm not y-your's to mark like that."

 

Scorpion rolls his hips, fucking into Kuai Liang hard enough to jolt the table. "Wouldn't if I wanted to," He says, "Let Hanzo Hasashi keep you."

 

***

 

It's awful and it's awful and they come anyway, Scorpion finishing deep inside Kuai's ass. Kuai comes into the press of their torsos, orgasm torn painfully from him, his face turned away like he can't bear it. 

***

 

Somehow it becomes a regular thing.

 

***

 

Scorpion has Kuai Liang bent over the deconstructed insides of a military humvee, pants pushed down around his knees, fucking him down on his fingers as while Johnny and Sonya ( _ the younger one, who has slipped into her future self's role, white-knuckled and teeth gritted; Scorpion hates her for it, how easy she keeps trying to pretend it is, like she isn't just another ghost _ ) talk somberly by the weapons racks. Kuai's hand is stuffed in his mouth, biting viciously on the meaty bit where thumb meets palm, muffling his over loud moans as Scorpion twists his wrist and hits something inside. 

 

"I lost too many men out there," Sonya says and there's an echoing bang, a clenched fist punching something metal and heavy. "I should have been better, faster–"

 

Scorpion crooks his fingers and Kuai Liang jolts forward, curling into himself, a brilliant red flush creeping down his pale shoulder blades.

 

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda," interrupts the older Johnny Cage, flippant except for the audible strain in his voice. He sighs, sounding old. "Hindsight is a mean old sugar mama, Sonya. You did what you could, we all did. You're disrespecting your team's sacrifices if you think everything falls on you." There's a long, simmering pause, the sound of heavy boots shuffling in place. Kuai shifts, angling his hips up high, canting his ass back for Scorpion's fingers. His reedy whine is drowned out by Johnny clearing his throat, the clatter of a heavy gun being tossed onto a steel bench. "Look, Sonya, you're not gonna bring back those guys by beating yourself up."

 

There's the rasp of metal on metal, clicking, interlocking pieces being pulled apart, a  gun being cleaned with ruthless efficiency. Scorpion is undoing his armor just enough to pull out his cock when Sonya speaks up again, voice tight with anger. "With all due respect,  _ sir _ , I could have done better. " The sound of gun bits being slammed too roughly on the table bleeds with another tired sigh.

 

"Okay, Sonya."

 

He's rutting the length of his cock in the cleft of Kuai's ass when there's the dull sound of a heavy hand patting kevlar, then dragging bootsteps wandering away. 

 

Scorpion is slipping his fingers free, leaving a slick trail of lube behind, when a thick door slams shut in the distance. He's lining his cock up with Kuai's red, empty hole, hands rough on the other man's hips as he pulls him down, down, down. Kuai twists, a trembling moan breaking free, hiding his face in arms even as he pushes back for more.

 

The gun pieces clatter to the floor, bouncing off the table and Sonya is screaming a sudden curse into the silence. " _ Fuck _ ! Fuckfuck _ fuckfUCK _ !" The metal table clangs as she repeatedly punches it, a wordless scream strangles itself in her throat, the sounds too loud in the huge, empty bay. "Fucking shit! Goddamn it all to hell!"

 

She sobs, kicking the stripped down gun stalk away, it goes careening underneath an armored truck, skittering to a stop only a few feet away from Scorpion and Kuai. Ignoring it, not capable of feeling anything like sympathy when he's already full up on his own misery, Scorpion pulls back and drills back in, nails digging into Kuai's skin. "Oh, oh, oh," Kuai sighs softly, biting his knuckles as Scorpion splits him apart with his cock. The sound of their skin slapping together is muffled by Sonya choking back wrenching tears as she rages at everything around her.

 

Tucking himself against the sweaty line of Kuai's back, Scorpion shifts all his focus to chasing after his own pleasure, willingly deaf to the name Kuai whispers desperately, the sound of a body crumpling to the floor and muffled tears. 

 

***

 

"How messy," Hydro sneers, something like morbid amusement in their eyes, the corners crinkling above their mask. They are looking around the ruined depot with a critical, sweeping stare, tiptoeing around scattered shell casings and discarded equipment as if wary of stepping on something unpleasant. 

 

"It's a work in progress," Sonya glares defensively, not quite meeting Johnny's eyes. Johnny, for his part, only smiles sadly, ignoring the questioning nudges from his younger counterpart. "There's a lot we haven't set to rights since the Kronika incident."

 

Scorpion stares blankly into the middle distance, holding himself apart from everyone else. He came for a mission, the mission ended, and now he doesn't know why he's still here except that Takeda had begged him to stay a while longer. 

 

Hydro daintily picks their way back to Kuai Liang's side, who looks exhausted, his posture rigid but careful. He looks as if a strong enough breeze would send him toppling down. Coyly tapping a finger against the edge of their mask, Hydro hums tellingly, darting a glance Scorpion's way. Scorpion ignores it. "While your homemaking leaves much to be desired, Ms. Blade... That wasn't what I meant." 

 

"You mean the fact that we don't have our shit together now that there isn't  one big scary bad guy?" The younger Jackson Briggs questions, blunt. 

 

"We had our shit together then?" Johnny Cage the younger snarks, waving away the ugly look the rest of the Cage family gives him, plus Sonya. He flicks his glasses further up on his nose, expression scrunching up in annoyance at the wordless censor. "Well I mean, c'mon. Did we?"

 

Jacqui shakes her head, looking chagrined to agree. "The only ones who looked like they had their fingers on the pulse at all times were tweedle dee and tweedle dum over there," she says, motioning between Scorpion and Kuai Liang.

 

Hydro brightens, the expression curdling Scorpion's stomach with weary dread. "And Tweedle Dum's dead," they clap their hands, sarcasm dripping darkly, entirely too pleased with themselves. Scorpion knows better than to assume that Hydro didn't know what went on between Kuai Liang and Hanzo Hasashi. Knows they said it to hurt Kuai Liang, like pouring alcohol over an open wound in hopes of cleaning it out before it festers. A callous sort of attempt at comfort. "Or did you forget?

 

Scorpion turns away from the careful way Kuai's expression goes blank, the faint flinch as if Hydro's words had a physical weight behind them.

 

Cassie Cage steps forward, a thoughtful frown lining her young face. "It's not as smooth as when Hasashi was out there," she admits, leaning against Jacqui who was sending dirty looks Hydro's way. "But there's no denying you guys had things well in hand."

 

Fists clenching at his sides, Scorpion looks skyward, his temper beginning to creep down his arms in a molten drip. Oblivious, happy, earnest Takeda laughs with light-hearted smugness, coming around Jacqui's other side and placing a kiss in her hairline. "Well yeah. You can't deny the Shirai Ryu and the Lin Kuei are kicking as while the SF are still filling out paperwork." He grins a dopey grin, kissing away the pout Jacqui turns on him. "They're just good together, that has to be, like, a staple of the timelines."

 

Hydro lets out a mean, abortive laugh, slapping the side of their thigh with their prosthetic, doubling over. Kuai Liang stiffens underneath the sudden attention drawn in his direction. The temperature in the room drops several degrees.

 

Regaining control of themselves, Hydro pats a pained-looking Kuai Liang's shoulder, "That child is adorable. If he didn't stink of arachnid, I'd ask if we could keep him." They say, wiping at their eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have to see a man about some brainwashing code," Hydro offers a mocking bow to the rest of the room before sashaying away, mirth still apparent in the way their shoulders shake with quiet laughter. 

 

Kuai Liang's shoulders hunch, frost scaling over the back of his hands. 

 

Silence fills the room briefly, awkward and alive. Takeda shuffles, beginning to pull away uncomfortably from Jacqui, expression self-conscious, but Jacqui pulls him back, pressing a defiant kiss to his chin. Discomfited by the casual display of affection, Scorpion is nonetheless relieved to see Takeda begin to relax back against her side. 

 

Pursing her mouth, Cassie turns a considering glance over her shoulder at a miserable, stiff Sonya. Scratching at her cheek, Cassie shifts her weight from side to side, shrugging one shoulder with false casualness. "Kinda soppy, but you're not  _ wrong _ . Even with the chain of command in place, there's a lot of red tape in place that makes it hard to get to work without--" She cuts herself off, gaze slanting to the side, avoiding her father and the ghost of her mother. Hesitating, Cassie plows on with only a mild tremble in her voice. "...without the final say of General Blade."

 

Sonya crosses her arms and glares at the dented table, shrugging off Johnny Cage Sr.'s hand. There's pain in every line of her body. "We can handle this on our own."

 

"In the near future, yeah; not now though. Almost every faction in defense of Earthrealm has changed hands. Except, technically, our resident assassins." Jax points out. He waves a hand between Kuai Liang and Scorpion, unintentionally mirroring Jacqui. "Even Lui Kang has his hands full." 

 

"He's a god, what problems does  _ he _ have?" Johnny Cage jr interrupts, disgusted. Once again, everyone ignores him.

 

Hooking her chin on Jacqui's shoulder, Cassie darts a pensive glance between Scorpion and Kuai Liang. Scorpion resigns himself before she even opens her mouth. A brief glance out of the side of his peripheral has Scorpion catching Kuai Liang's expression break into the tiniest moue of dismay. Scorpion is bitterly mollified.  

 

Cassie Cage smiles a smile that's all her father's, but the steeliness in her eyes is every bit her mother's. "Well fellas, guess we're extending your contract for a while."


End file.
